Bobby's Day Off
by The Mominator
Summary: All these sad stories of Post Untethered I thought I would write an upbeat one. Well as upbeat as the world of Bobby Goren allows.


**Bobby's Day Off**

He absent-mindedly set the alarm clock, 7 o'clock it sounds. He is up, showered, shaved, dressed and ready for work. He clicks on the radio in the kitchen and the song 'Pretty Woman' sung by Roy Orbison not Van Halen plays. He sings the words, bopping his head to the music as he inserts a K-cup into the Keurig coffee machine, less than a minute and a perfectly brewed cup of coffee is ready. He smiles as he takes a sip, 'Oh oh pretty woman' the song ends.

A memory of his mother and their kitchen of so many years ago flash through his mind. Many times he and Frank would catch her singing and dancing around the kitchen, he laughs aloud. The brothers would remain in the doorway until she turned her body toward them. More times than not she would grab their hands and they would dance around the kitchen, mostly laughter was heard. But after a while he and Frank did indeed learn how to dance. Some of his childhood memories were pleasant; unfortunately it is the bad ones that he remembers the most.

His cell phone rings pushing the memory from his mind. He flips it open checking the number, _Eames, what the hell I'm gonna see her_……"Shit!" his fist hits the table. _How in the hell, _he rubs his forehead_. I've deluded myself into believing that all is well, oh my God_. He exhales loudly then hits the talk button on the phone, "Goren," he says less then pleasurable.

"_Morning, I know it's early but I just wanted…."_

"Wanted what? To check up on me."

"_Go to hell Goren."_

"I'm sorry, Eames I'm sorry, I truly am."

"_I'm sorry too I overreacted. I can just imagine….no I can't. I can't imagine how you feel." _Silence by both parties. Bobby coughs to break the silence. "_So,"_ Alex says to start the conversation again.

He responds, "So, so what?"

"_I….I don't know,"_ he hears her chuckle.

"I'll be fine; don't worry about me, besides you have your own wrath to face."

"_I'd do it again."_

"So would I," he pauses. "Thanks, did I thank you?"

"_You're welcome. Have a good day; take care of yourself, promise."_

"I will, to all of it, bye."

"_Bye Bobby."_

He closes the phone tossing it on the table, in the same instance he removes his tie. He sits at the table tapping his fingers to the music on the radio; 'Jackie Wilson Said' by Van Morrison is playing. He clicks on the radio every morning but never hears the music, but this morning is different he hears _all_ the music. He finishes his first cup of coffee then pops in another K-cup, as the machine brews his coffee he removes his jacket.

He resumes his seat at the table, _Ok, now that I have removed my jacket and tie what the hell am I gonna do all day?_

The news correspondent starts his report, he stands and switches the channel, _No I'm not interested in the shit that is this city_, he finds another familiar song playing. _That's better_, he thinks as Linda Ronstadt sings her rendition of Buddy Holly's 'It Doesn't Matter Anymore.' He chuckles softly to himself, _Yeah, right, keep trying to make yourself believe that it doesn't matter anymore, but it does._

The song ends. _Ok I've had my coffee, now what. _He thinks of all the sleep that he has lost these past thirty years of his life. _I could go back to bed, Nah._ The radio remains on as he leaves the kitchen, entering his bedroom. He removes his pants and shirt then proceeds to hang up his suit. He grabs an old pair of jeans, stepping into them, _Shit these don't fit_ _anymore, how sad is that. Face it Goren_, he looks at the treadmill that sits in the corner of his room, he can see the dust on it from where he is standing. _Man_, he wipes away some of the dust. _I wonder if it is psychological that I never clean this thing. _He gets a rag and removes all the dust. Staring at the machine_, well today is as good a day as any to start._

Slipping into an old pair of sweatpants, _well at least these_ _still fit_. He steps up on the machine, clicks on the slowest setting and after ten minutes he finds it hard to breathe and the sweat is pouring out of every pore on his 6 foot 4 inch frame. _Great I'll have a heart_ _attack and no on will know_. He thinks as he remembers tossing his cell phone on the kitchen table. _Ok that's enough of this._

After another shower he can feel a slight muscle ache in his legs, opening the medicine cabinet he pops open the Aleeve bottle and takes two pills.

Soon after he finds a pair of jeans that fit, a hunger pain hits. He is out the door and on the sidewalk of the city, heading uptown. He opens the door to the diner and takes the booth in the corner, the one with the view of the street. He smiles as Leslie a long time waitress at this diner greets him. "I won't even ask if you want coffee Bobby but….I will ask. Why are you here in the middle of the week? Taking a day off?"

He smiles, "Yeah, a day or two."

"Be right back with your coffee."

"Thanks Leslie." He opens the menu but doesn't need to read it, he has it memorized after fifteen years of patronizing this diner.

He finishes the last piece of steak, then sits back in the chair, _Oh I ate too much_.

Leslie returns, picking up his dish. "I love to see a man enjoy his food."

"Yeah, now if I can only get up," he lightly pats his stomach.

Exiting the diner, he stands momentarily in the doorway, looking first to his left, which is the way home then to his right. He decides to go to the right. He feels slightly guilty that after his first morning workout in months that he ate like there was no tomorrow.

He enjoys walking the streets of the city alone; it gives him time to think and watch all the people going here and there….to where? It is a mystery.

He passes a young man that reminds him of Donnie, _Maybe that was a stupid thing that I did and Frank was right. What the hell was I trying to prove? You know what you trying to prove that you have to take care of everyone and everything. Eames, I can't believe she went along with me, have I corrupted her. Nah, she's too level headed. She thought it was the right thing to do, then why did the brass come down so hard on me. Stupid question Goren they want your ass gone. After all the time and energy I have given that job and they treat me like this_.

A car horn blows and interrupts his thoughts. He looks at his surroundings not aware that he has walked so far, for so long. He checks his wrist for his watch, patting it. _I left it home_. The sidewalk is deserted of people; he chuckles to himself, _Franks' apartment building, how fucking ironic is that_. "Young man, excuse me." He turns his attention to an elderly woman. For a second he is taken aback, she looks as his mother did maybe five to ten years ago. His eyes widen and the woman takes a step back. He stuffs his hand in his pockets, "I'm sorry, it's just that you remind me of my Mom and she…." He bows his head. "She recently passed away."

"I am sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't ask."

"No, what can I help you with?"

"I….the moving men left a number of boxes," she points across the street. "I asked them if they had brought all of them up and they nodded and mumbled some words. When I came out onto the sidewalk to get some things from my car I saw the boxes. I can't lift them would you, could you?" She waves her hand, "No, I'll just call.…"

"No you don't need to call them back, I'd be happy to help."

"Thank you, thank you so much."

After three trips up two flights of stairs, the remaining boxes of her prized possessions are now within her apartment. With out being asked he starts to help her remove some of the articles inside. "Thank you for all your help," she covers her mouth. "Oh my God I don't even know your name."

"It's Bobby," he shakes her hand.

"I'm Marie Perritti; I made a tray of lasagna last night could I persuade you…." She pauses when she sees his eyes widen, much like a child in a toy store. "I'll take that as a yes."

He nods, "Yes Ma'am thank you."

Along with the lasagna they partake of a glass of burgundy wine, brick oven garlic bread and salad with oil and vinegar dressing. She watches him as he uses the last piece of bread to sop up the remaining dressing in his salad bowl.

She smiles, "Are you Italian?"

He nods, "On my mother's side." He once again has to pat his stomach, "Marie that was marvelous."

"Thank you, when my boys were younger…." She shakes her head, "Oh, no use in dwelling in the past."

"Your sons, they not a part of your life anymore," he pats her hand. "I'm sorry it comes from the job, being nosy."

"You're a policeman?"

"Yes I am. How did you know?"

"Police officers are not the only perceptive people in the world, Bobby."

He flashes a shy smile, she innocently finds herself staring at him, he notices, "Something wrong?"

"No….not wrong. Did you grow up in Brooklyn, on Prospect Avenue?"

"Well I remember living there for a while we moved around quite a bit."

She stands; grabbing the sides of the lasagna pan, Bobby immediately stands and begins to remove the dishes from the table. "It can't be, it's not possible," she says barely above a whisper but he can hear her.

"What? What's not possible?"

She releases her hold of the pan and resumes her seat, "It was a hot summer day. I remember the boys had opened up the fire hydrants. After the fire department came by to recap them I was sitting on my stoop with two of my neighbors, my husband was working and my father had come by that morning to take the boys to the beach. A little boy, who I never saw before came running out the door of the apartment building across the street." She lifts her eyes to take a glance at him; he is sitting up straight with his hands folded on the table. "He ran across the street and almost got hit by a car. As he came onto our side of the street he fell down and scraped his knee. I was the first one to get up and go over to him. He was crying so hard that when I asked his name he couldn't speak." He unfolds his hands, lowering his head he stares straight ahead. She pats his arm, "You remember that, don't you?"

He nods, "Oh my God." He takes a hold of her hand squeezing it gently, "I….I wanted to stay with you but then my Dad…."

"Yes I remember he came looking for you, he seemed concerned but something told me that he was more embarrassed.

"You are a very perceptive person Marie." He fills up the glass in front of him with wine. "We moved the next week." He drinks the wine in the glass in one gulp. He sits back in the chair, "You," he wags his finger. "You bought me an ice cream cone from the ice cream man. I remember that I ate it very fast I was so hungry."

She rubs her forehead; chuckles softly remember the little boy with the dark curly hair devouring that ice cream as if it was the only food he had eaten all day. "I asked you if you had lunch. You didn't answer, you couldn't answer me your mouth was full of ice cream."

"Why would you even remember that?" he asks.

"I'm not sure, you seemed so helpless but at the same time you tried so hard to be big boy. Even when I started to clean your knee, you bit your lip so hard trying to prove to me that it didn't hurt." She leans forward, "And you were so adorable." He smiles as his face starts to turn red.

"You know it was all the little dashes of good times that I have forgotten throughout my life. I've become such a cynical son of a bitch," he frowns, "I'm sorry," he covers his mouth.

She waves him off, "It's alright."

"It's just that all I can remember these days are the bad times. Even though that day started out bad it had a happy ending for me, because of you." They share a pleasant smile, "And when I went back home with my Dad, he just put me to bed."

Marie and Bobby spend the next few minutes cleaning up the kitchen; he hears the clock chime six times. "Oh man its six o'clock already, I had the day off and couldn't think of anything to do." He takes her petite hand in his, "Thanks for an enjoyable afternoon and a delicious meal."

Both aware that they will probably never cross paths again he leans down and kisses her cheek. She pats his in return, "Take care of yourself Bobby."

"I will," he lightly shakes her hand, "You too and if you ever need anything," he removes his wallet and hands her his card.

She takes it gladly, reading it aloud, "Detective Robert Goren, I'm impressed."

"Don't be, it's just a job." _Hopefully I'll be able to keep it_. Another quick peck on her cheek and then he is out the door and back onto the sidewalks of New York City.

Back in his apartment, after watching an episode of Forensics Files the clock chimes 12 times. He feels a sense of elation and depression, _Midnight, thank God that day is over, what the hell am I gonna do tomorrow? _

**The End**


End file.
